Sticks and Stones
by fac3991
Summary: Set post 2x5, Stiles is struggling to deal with Derek's pack. They aren't quite accustomed to their werewolf strength yet, and he's the one who suffers. One excruciating hospital trip later is all it takes for Derek to realize what's been going on.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay so this is just a quick chapter of a new idea I've been working on. It's set post season 2 episode 5, so early in the stages of the new pack existing. The idea occurred to me watching Erica be a little rough with Stiles, cuz it seemed to me like she was more aggressive than Derek had ever been. I'm not exploring any sort of physical relationships between characters but it's sort of focused on how everyone feels about Stiles. Especially when he's hurt.**

It hadn't been Stiles' best day.

It wasn't his worst day, all things considered. But, he'd had kind of a tough life, so that wasn't really saying much. Still, he hated hospitals.

Especially when he was being rolled into the ER for surgery.

Through a fog of pain, Stiles heard someone - presumably a medical professional - ask how bad the pain was on a scale of one to ten. Somehow he managed to grit out, "Nine?" in response although really it sounded more like "Nnnnn," so they'd have to interpret that however they wanted.

Scott, who was trailing behind the team wheeling him into the hospital - although surely they'd stop him soon, right? Stiles hoped so because if they still allowed Scott in a room with him he probably wasn't getting fixed up, and the pain was so bad he could barely breathe - Scott was saying something to the doctor?

Stiles tilted his head slightly to the sound of his friend saying, "Seriously, whatever number he just tried to say, he's being way conservative with it. On a scale of one to ten he should've said no less than twelve, man."

Stiles tried to chuckle at Scott's informal way of addressing the ER surgeon. 'Man.' Though in Scott's defense he was probably pretty stressed out, not to mention he had pain-drained Stiles the whole way to the ER, so he really could speak from experience to Stiles' level of pain.

Distantly it occurred to Stiles that he should be worried that he had still been in immense pain despite Scott's assistance on the ride over.

He'd worry about that later, because right now he was fading into blissful, painless unconsciousness.

*TW*TW*TW*

Earlier that day...

"Stiles, you're going to be late," John Stilinski called up to his son who was pretending not to hear him and trying to go back to sleep.

He tried to mumble something witty in response, and thought he might have succeeded when he heard nothing else from his father. But then suddenly the covers were ripped away from his body and he was stifling a groan as he rolled out of his bed.

"I'm up...I'm up," Stiles managed to rasp out as his father looked on, concerned.

"You don't look so good," John said, crouching down and feeling his son's forehead. He didn't feel feverish, but his eyes seemed pinched with pain.

Stiles favored his father with a sheepish grin and rubbed the back of his head, saying, "I, uh...I think I overdid it at practice yesterday. You know...trying to get some time on the field this year. I'm fine, just a little sore." His father seemed satisfied with the excuse, but wasn't convinced on the 'fine' front. He paused and said, "Really, dad, I'm fine."

John stared at him for another couple of minutes before relenting. He stood up and helped Stiles off the floor, adding, "Get dressed, I'll give you a ride in today."

Stiles didn't even try to argue with that. He was too worn out.

Stiles was getting pretty fed up with these new werewolves Derek had turned.

Goddamn alpha Derek and his goddamn pack of lunatics.

The irony of the situation was that he had actually liked all of them before they had been turned. Boyd had been something of a loner, but Stiles liked him enough. He'd been one of very few to notice Erica (for something besides her seizures at least) before she was turned. And Isaac...okay, so they hadn't been friends, but that wasn't for lack of trying on Stiles' part. Isaac was very closed off to people around him, even peers.

It didn't mean Stiles didn't notice the signs of abuse and try to get his father to act on it.

Without any teacher complaints or evidence besides Stiles' gut, that had been a tough sell to his father. And in the end Derek Hale and the kanima beat Sheriff Stilinski to the punch.

Derek fucking Hale.

So...they weren't exactly friends. But Stiles had liked to believe they had a certain respect for each other.

Well...kind of.

A kind of respect that meant Stiles could sass him freely (and often) but wouldn't, say, let him drown. And Derek would only threaten to rip his throat out.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't respect per se, but certainly a mutual understanding with one another. A quid pro quo. Sure, Derek pushed him around on occasion, but despite his super-human-werewolf mojo he'd never actually left a scratch on Stiles.

Come to think of it, there had been a lot of threats, but no real damage.

Until he created a pack a maniacs.

School had become something out of a nightmare - or, more aptly, a horror movie, there were werewolves involved. Truthfully, the situation hadn't gotten too out of control. But Erica in particular, and Boyd on occasion, took the liberty to remind him that they had the strength to throw him around like a rag doll. Once Isaac got back to school he didn't really participate, but he certainly didn't intervene.

Stiles didn't like the feeling that he needed Scott around as a bodyguard, but he also didn't like getting thrown around when no one was looking.

The last time he got a look at his back he could see lines of livid bruises ranging from dark purple to a sickly yellow. Nothing he couldn't handle, but not exactly pleasant. Luckily he had plenty of excuses - lacrosse and general clumsiness would do the trick for anyone who asked. But it did make lacrosse practically unbearable, and if anything he'd gotten clumsier with how stiff all the bruises made him.

In the pack's defense, he hadn't really complained; in fact he's pretty much tried to hide his injuries. So it was possible they didn't even know they'd been hurting him. In fact, he suspected they thought they weren't hurting him at all. They weren't entirely innocent as their actions were still designed to exercise a certain dominance over him. Erica would shove him against the lockers and purr at him seductively, but she didn't know that it made him feel like his organs were rattling around his ribcage. Boyd would push him around on the lacrosse field, like a teammate might, without realizing he needed to exercise a little restraint when dealing with a human teammate. Isaac would just look on with that smug smirk, but he didn't seem to realize that Stiles' was at the end of his rope. Though, to be fair neither did Scott even if he was more willing to defend Stiles.

And pride would stop Stiles from reacting with anything but nervous laughter and the occasional biting remark.

He knew eventually there would be a straw to break the camel's back, but he was going to hold out as long as he could.

So when Stiles entered school, he hoped it would just be an average Tuesday, with nothing unpleasant and supernatural, and little to no interaction with Derek's pack. He'd stick close to Scott today and hopefully not exacerbate the existing bruises. If he did that for a week or so he could rest up and be good as new.

No such luck.

Stiles knew he should talk to Scott about the bruises - well more specifically the source of the bruises - but, God, if that didn't make him feel ten kinds of pathetic. He would literally be the boy who cried wolf (without the lying and getting eaten).

Besides, he could handle it.

He could handle it.

*TW*TW*TW*

Stiles had made it through half of the day with Scott by his side and no hiccups. And then as they stalled by their lockers before heading to chemistry - as neither of them wanted to go - they were met by trouble in the form of Isaac and Erica.

"Ugh, shit. Not today..." Stiles groaned as Erica shot a cheshire cat grin his way.

Scott looked at Stiles, having already voiced concern for his friend's battered looking state that morning, and murmured, "Why don't you head to class, I'll talk to them."

"Where's the fun in that, Scott?" Erica smirked, placing her hands on her hips. Goddamn werewolf hearing. Admittedly, having Stiles head off to class wasn't Scott's best plan as Derek's pack was currently blocking the hallway. "We like talking to both of you," she pouted.

"Must we do this every day?" Stiles whined, shifting to stand slightly behind Scott. Not quite enough that anyone could call him out on it, but enough that it made him feel a little better. "We don't even have anything to fight about at the moment!"

Isaac leaned against a locker, but his standard grin was missing as he glanced at Stiles with a slight frown. For the first time since he'd been turned, Stiles thought he saw a hint of concern on his face. He took a step forward and murmured, "You don't look so good, Stiles," his eyes still scanning Stiles' form.

Stiles snorted and snapped, "Ah, now you're concerned all of the sudden?"

Isaac raised an eyebrow and glanced at Scott, who looked similarly surprised by the outburst.

"Well...I am, I guess?" Isaac responded, eyes darting between Stiles, who was maintaining a somewhat halfhearted glare, and Scott, who looked about as confused as Isaac felt. When Stiles didn't respond, Isaac continued, "Concerned, Stiles. You look..." Isaac broke off, his eyes distant for a moment, "...you don't look good, Stiles."

Perhaps the greatest sign of Stiles not quite feeling like himself was his inability to come up with a snappy one liner in response. He settled for rolling his eyes and, deciding that they probably wouldn't push him around with Scott next to him, made a move to walk around Erica.

Erica's eyes glittered dangerously at Stiles' reaction to Isaac's concern. "Hey, what the hell, Stilinski? He's just talking to you!"

"Erica, leave it, it's fine," Isaac said. Scott moved forward, about to make an attempt to diffuse the situation.

Erica's eyes flashed gold for a moment as Stiles just barely stepped past her. Letting out low snarl she gripped his left arm and yanked back.

The resounding pop followed by a loud crack was almost as nauseating as the wail of agony that followed.

 **So that was chapter one. Obviously I'll be getting more into the injury and what's going to happen with that in the next chapter, but I'm also going to add Derek into the mix. Like I said there aren't going to be any romantic relationships explored, but I'm definitely going to be focusing on how Derek and Isaac react to the injury, so if that appeals to you I suppose you could read it as romantic.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I am pleasantly surprised by the reviews, favorites, and follows for this story! Hopefully chapter two will not disappoint!**

When Stiles faded back into consciousness, he found himself surrounded by panicked voices. The hard floor beneath him, the searing agony that encompassed his left arm, and Scott's furious shouting helped him quickly deduce that he was not in his bedroom.

A hand clamped down on his left arm and Stiles had to choke down the bile that rushed into his throat at the pain. Luckily, it was Scott's hand gripping him and the pain began to recede ever so slightly.

As his consciousness began to morph into awareness, Stiles began to pick out some of the words flying around his head.

"And what are you going to tell them at the hospital? It looks like his arm got ripped off by machinery!" a voice said...Boyd? When did Boyd get there?

" _How_ is that your priority? We will think of a _goddamn_ excuse _on the way_ ," Scott snarled, " _CALL 911._ "

" _Scott_ , Scott, I called them already," Isaac murmured, "They're on the way."

Stiles could make out Erica's voice but she was speaking too quickly and crying (crying? what was she crying for?) for him to understand. He picked out words like "so sorry" and "didn't mean to," so when he wasn't devoting most of his energy to not puking in the hallway, he would probably remember the sentiment.

Stiles whimpered when his arm was jostled, snapping Scott's attention back to his fallen friend.

"Stiles? Hey, Stiles, can you open your eyes?" Scott said, his voice quickly softening as he directed his gaze to Stiles. Stiles managed to crack an eye open and saw a terrified Scott and a very grey-faced Isaac floating in his line of vision. Their faces quickly blurred as tears leaked out of his eyes. He was worried that if he said anything he would lose his lunch on the floor, so he settled for biting his lip and trying to stop crying.

"Help is on the way, Stiles," Isaac said. Stiles didn't exactly think they were friends, but it distantly occurred to him that the last time he had seen Isaac look this panicked was after his first full moon in a jail cell.

That was probably something that should worry him, but the werewolf pain numbing wasn't making him as numb as he'd like to be. Meanwhile Scott had started to look a little green himself.

This was bad. This was really bad. He could feel it.

And not just a gut feeling.

He could literally still feel it despite supernatural pain-draining abilities.

Stiles took this opportunity to try to peek at his arm to see what the problem was, when he had the terrifying thought that maybe it wasn't even attached? Hadn't Boyd said it had been ripped off or something...?

He couldn't muster the strength to lift his head, so he settled for trying to ask Scott if his arm was still attached. His first attempt came out as a garbled moan that had Scott and Isaac looking at each other in confusion, but eventually he managed to get out most of the words in a mostly intelligible fashion.

Scott quickly nodded and said, "Yeah, Stiles, _yeah_. Jeez, of course it's still _attached_. Yeah. It's attached...it's just..." Scott looked to Isaac as he searched for the right word to describe Stiles' limb. Finally he settled on a simple "...Broken."

Stiles could sense how great an understatement that was, but calling Scott on it was not his top priority at the moment.

Stiles realized that either class had ended or they had made such a commotion that they were drawing a crowd. Coach Finnstock was kneeling beside his head and shouting for someone to get the school nurse - which, truthfully what the hell could she do in this situation - while Mr. Harris was trying to keep students from crowding too close. Stiles heard Allison gasp and Lydia shout his name. Honestly, if he were of a sound mind right now he'd probably feel a little touched at all this concern from the teacher who hated him and the coach who still didn't know his name, not to mention the girl he'd been pining after his whole life.

But he wasn't entirely convinced that his arm was going to stay attached through the day, so he'd have to think on that later.

He was in such a thick cloud of pain, he probably wouldn't have realized that he was being shifted onto a gurney except that the medical professionals assisting him didn't realize he had his very own supernatural morphine drip that they had forced away from him. He let out a choked sob before trying to shout Scott's name.

He might have imagined it, but Stiles was pretty sure he saw Scott actually growl at a paramedic who tried to prevent him from returning to Stiles' side.

Before he knew it, he was being loaded into an ambulance.

As he was put into the vehicle, he caught a glimpse of Derek's car tearing into the school's parking lot and coming to a screaming halt. As he was fading out of consciousness, he saw Derek storm out of his car and sprint at near werewolf speed towards the ambulance with furious, burning red eyes.

Luckily for Stiles, the doors shut before Derek could reach the ambulance. Stiles' last thought before he drifted into oblivion was that he should probably be worried about that reaction from the alpha.

*TW*TW*TW*

The next time Stiles awoke, he was aware of the fact that he was in a lot less pain. A _lot_ less pain, like almost concerning that he couldn't feel his arm?

He jolted up at the thought that he no longer _had_ a left arm.

"Stiles!"

He did have his left arm.

The jolting upwards made that abundantly clear as the limb screamed in pain.

Stiles was so overwhelmed with relief that he let out a dry sob and then started coughing at the dryness in his throat. Before he even knew what was happening, a straw appeared in front of his face. As Stile's started drinking - which, good god, does water always taste this good? - he followed the arm holding the glass of water and found it was attached to his father.

"You gave everyone quite a scare, son," his dad murmured affectionately, the relief he feels that Stiles is finally awake (and seemingly coherent) is palpable. Stiles certainly didn't miss the pinched look of extreme worry mixed with total exhaustion on his father's face. The Sheriff ran his hand through Stiles' short hair as he set the nearly empty glass of water on the bedside table. "I mean, people really came out of the woodwork for you on this one, kiddo. Friends I don't even recognize," he paused and leaned in conspiratorially, " _Lydia_ came to check on you."

Stiles favored his dad with a small smile, knowing that her visit to the hospital had been the gesture of a concerned friend and nothing more. But it was still nice to know.

"So, what," Stiles began before clearing his throat again. Man, they must have knocked him out for awhile, his mouth still felt like sandpaper. "What's the prognosis? What...what even happened?"

The Sheriff frowned at that, before responding, "I was hoping you could shed a little light on that myself, Stiles. Scott said you fell down a staircase at the school?"

Stiles had to stifle a groan at the excuse Scott had come up with. Great. He would much prefer being a nobody at the high school than a somebody who was known for falling down a staircase and messing up his arm. He was never going to live this one down.

"The doctors say you lucked out with basically no damage to your head. Tiny bump on the back, but they weren't even worried about a concussion. What they don't understand is how a flight of stairs managed to damage your arm so badly. There...there was a lot of damage, Stiles. However you managed to land, it popped your shoulder out of joint and then somehow also fractured the bones beneath your elbow."

Ah, right. Where Erica had gripped his arm. Things were starting to come back to him.

"I mean, Stiles, they said it looked more like your arm got caught in heavy duty machinery...I mean they're still talking about what an odd case this is."

"Still?"

"It's been a few days, kiddo," John said quietly, and there was that pinched look again. "You've woken up here and there but the surgery was a tough one and they kept you pretty heavily sedated."

Stiles supposed it was a good thing that the break in his arm combined with the dislocation in his shoulder was so bad that the doctors had just accepted it was a rare occurrence from a fall down the stairs. No one would possibly expect any person could've done this to Stiles. The staircase would explain away some of the bruising too, god forbid any of this put suspicion on his dad.

"They, uh...they don't think there'll be any...well they're hopeful that there'll be no lasting damage," his dad says with a small smile that doesn't even come close to reaching his eyes. "It's going to be a long road. Physical therapy and all that. But they're hopeful."

Stiles can feel his eyes growing hot and his stomach clenching with tension at the thought of hospital bills.

"Dad, I'm-"

John, ever the mind reader when it comes to his son (well...a mind reader for the non-supernatural aspects of his son's life), soothed, "Stiles, accidents happen. We're gonna be just fine. You're going to be okay...I...I wouldn't dream of putting a price tag on that."

Stiles allows a shaky smile in his father's direction and can feel his eyes starting to actually grow a little wet at his father's words. Stiles figures he can blame the heavy drugs he's on later, and quietly adds, "I love you, Dad."

That unpleasant tension that had been sitting in the Sheriff's furrowed brow smoothes out into a real smile as he whispers, "I've grown quite fond of you as well, kiddo."

Stiles, now fully spent - seriously, he was not one for emotional moments this had been a trying day(s?...he'd worry about that later) - was ready for more sleep.

His father sensed this and said, "Get some rest, son. I'll be here when you wake up." As Stiles closed his eyes, he felt his father's hand rub his good arm soothingly.

Stiles loved having Scott around as his own personal numbing machine. It had come in handy on more than one occasion, and although he tried not to abuse the power, he was grateful to have a friend so willing to ease his suffering at his own expense. Scott was his best friend, and he loved him like a brother.

But, god, he wouldn't trade the feeling of his father's warm, calloused hands settling him back to sleep for all of the pain-draining werewolf hands in Beacon Hills.

 **Still kind of a short chapter, I know, but I didn't want to cram too much into it at once. There are only so many people worried about Stiles that you can fit into one chapter I suppose. I was going to get into some of the guilty werewolf feelings this time around, but it always bugs me when I see a fanfic where the Sheriff isn't right there when Stiles wakes up. I just can't imagine a scenario where that would happen (and vice versa). But next up I'll be writing about some of the pack reactions.**

 **Apologies for kind of just glancing past anything remotely medical. I did a bit of looking into things, but it's not like I'm suddenly a doctor. Obviously you can break your arm (and more) falling down the stairs, so I was approaching this more that the angle of the break combined with the dislocation was unusual, especially because she had pulled his arm backwards and out of joint. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I am truly overwhelmed by the favorites and follows! More than I could've ever expected or hoped for. So thank you all! Thank you to those who have reviewed especially, I would love to hear more of your thoughts on the story!**

 **I just realized that I never put a disclaimer! I don't own Teen Wolf, tragically.**

True to his word, Sheriff Stilinski was there when his son next woke up. Stiles was still in a hazy cloud of dull pain and drug induced numbness, so he wasn't entirely sure how much time had passed. However, he was certain that far too much time had gone by with his father getting no sleep.

He insisted that on what may have been the third night of his hospital stay that his father leave early in the evening so he could get a full night of sleep before he had to work the next day.

After a great deal of haggling - with some assistance from Melissa, who agreed to help sneak the Sheriff in to visit Stiles briefly before visiting hours and John's shift at the station began - Stiles had finally convinced him to go home.

Scott, who had been spending a similarly unhealthy amount of time visiting Stiles (especially given his current GPA) took the opportunity of the Sheriff's absence to finally address the elephant in the room that lingered between them.

"I'm sorry, man," Scott began.

Stiles was quick to roll his eyes and interrupt with a sheepish, "Scott-"

"No, hold on, Stiles, I've been thinking about this a lot...like seriously, _a lot_ , your dad hasn't left for longer than 3 minutes since your surgery. Just let me get through this. You're...you're my best friend, man, and that was really scary. And if I had known - no, because I did know, sort of. That's what I'm upset about. I could see you weren't at your best, and I should've asked you about it. I should've confronted them about this. You've been swept up into all this werewolf drama because of me, so I need to be more aware of how it affects you..."

Stiles waited to see if Scott would continue before mentioning, "Well, _technically_ I got you into the whole werewolf thing-"

"You know what I mean, Stiles," Scott murmured, but a small grin started to replace is dejected puppy face.

"I know, Scott. I know what you mean. And I...reluctantly accept some of the blame for this, as I probably should've told you sooner," Stiles paused before attempting to joke, "But I'm putting most of the blame on Erica for playing tug of war with my arm."

Scott's gaze darkened and he said, "Seriously, Stiles. I was as vague as possible in my explanation of how you broke your arm, but I want to tell your dad she pushed you down the stairs-"

"No-"

"Stiles, just because we can't tell him the _truth_ doesn't mean she should be off the hook-"

"No, Scott. _No_. She...she didn't know what she was doing." At Scott's narrowed gaze, Stiles amended, "Okay, yeah it was a power play, mess with my head move, the same shit they've been doing. But she didn't know she's been actually hurting me. I'm like...93% sure."

Scott tried to hold his ground but was forced to cave quickly to Stiles' remarkably stubborn will.

"That's how I know they're weaning you off of the good stuff," Scott huffed out, "suddenly, you're snarky and impossible to reason with again."

"First of all, don't act like you didn't miss this. Second, I would hardly call your average train of thought _reason_." Stiles winced when he felt a pull on his shoulder before adding, "Third, don't remind me about the weaning. I miss the good stuff."

The kicked puppy face returned and Stiles forced himself to smile and bat Scott's hand away from trying to take his pain. Scott had taken on far too much pain in the past couple of days, leaving him looking very drained. It was a testament to how out of sorts Stiles had been, for he wouldn't have let his friend absorb that much.

After a bit of chatting and a promise to return the next day with Allison and Lydia (who would be driving separately so Chris Argent didn't come after Scott with a shotgun), Scott was finally convinced by Stiles to go home and get some rest.

As he was gathering his things, Scott and Stiles heard a soft knock at the door.

Expecting Scott's mom, Stiles felt his mouth drop open in shock when Isaac poked his head into the room.

Scott actually let out a fairly ferocious sounding growl, before biting out, "I don't know what you think you're doing here, but you should get the hell out before I make you get out."

Isaac looked uncharacteristically nervous. Well, uncharacteristic of the werewolf Isaac. Stiles was struck by how much this Isaac reminded him of the one Stiles' had been certain was suffering from domestic abuse.

And the nerves didn't seem to be related to the other werewolf snarling at him, but focused on the human who was lying in a hospital bed.

"Scott," Stiles murmured gently, startling briefly when Scott turned to him with the barest hint of fangs starting to elongate. "Scott, it's alright."

"It's not alright, Stiles, he-"

" _Scott_ , he didn't do anything-"

"That's...that's actually what I'm here to talk about," Isaac interrupted with a quick clear of his throat. He glanced between Scott, who was doing his best to block the hospital bed, and Stiles, who was practically falling off the hospital bed to lean around Scott. "Would you be willing to talk to me for a minute, Stiles?"

"Like hell," Scott growled before Stiles even fully opened his mouth.

" _Scott_. Scott, go home, I would like to hear what he has to say." When Scott made no move and continued to glare at Isaac for another minute, Stiles amended, "Fine, Scott, pretend to go home to appease me and then wait beneath my hospital window eavesdropping and making sure he leaves me in one piece. Good?"

Scott allowed himself one more minute of heated glaring before shouldering his bag and giving Stiles a brief farewell, all without once breaking eye contact with Isaac.

When Scott vacated the room, Isaac took the opportunity to move a little further into the hospital room.

"Do you mind if I sit...?" Isaac began.

Stiles huffed out a laugh, saying, "Isaac, at my best I couldn't prevent you from doing whatever you want. I'm not going to pick a fight with you for sitting in a crappy hospital chair."

Stiles had meant it as a joke - even if it was technically true - but he couldn't help the small tinge of bitterness that worked its way into his statement.

Isaac gave a minor flinch, but settled into a chair nonetheless.

"How are you feeling?" Isaac began, fiddling with the edges of his jacket and carefully avoiding eye contact.

"They're giving me less pain killers, so I am only now starting to feel anything," Stiles responded. "Seriously, dude, you're a werewolf so this stuff probably doesn't affect you, but they have made some _amazing_ medical advancements." Isaac was giving Scott a run for his money on the wounded puppy look - which, _seriously_ , how is everyone pulling this off when Stiles is the only one who is actually injured. Stiles couldn't stop himself from trying to ease Isaac's guilt with, "Really, Isaac. You can tell when I'm lying. It doesn't feel good, but I'm not in much pain right now and it's going to heal." It really _wasn't_ Isaac's fault, even if he wasn't entirely innocent.

Isaac finally made eye contact with Stiles and his shoulders sagged a bit with a slight release of tension.

"I just wanted to, uhh...apologize."

After a long pause, Stiles couldn't help but respond, "Wow, so emotional and heartfelt. Don't hold back on my account, man. Let it out." He gave Isaac his best shit-eating grin and was pleased to see a small tug on Isaac's lips.

"I'm serious, Stiles," he let out a long sigh. After a moment of silence, he continued, "Look, when Derek offered me the bite, I...it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get my life back, you know? And I...I mean it sort of worked. But now I find myself...I don't know. Confused? Conflicted? I-I...this just isn't what I expected."

Stiles remained silent as he waited for Isaac to work through his thoughts.

"I figured the strength and the speed and the overall supernatural skills would, you know, give me what I was looking for. And it did, I guess, I just...didn't expect the...consequences."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I just...I didn't want to feel quite so helpless anymore. But I...I always thought that I would want to feel powerful. And it was nice at first. But eventually, all of the messing with you and bullshit just...it started to hit a little close to home."

 _Ah_.

Stiles understood.

He didn't need to say it, but Isaac knew he understood.

Suddenly Isaac was thrust with the opportunity to have someone at his feet like his father had done with him.

Luckily for Stiles, he did not relish the feeling at all.

"Isaac, look man, your pack has been a bunch of dicks to me the past couple of weeks. I won't deny that. But don't think I didn't notice that you didn't participate. You're not like him, man."

Isaac let out a bitter laugh, commenting, "No, but that's...that's what I came here to apologize about. It took me awhile, okay, but I'm sorry for not doing anything. Yeah, I didn't know that they were hurting you, but I've been there and I should have seen it. I should have stopped it before it got this far."

They were silent for a minute before Stiles said, "Apology accepted." He smirked and added, "Don't think this means I like you though. That's going to take a lot of ass kissing."

"Please, as if I could even get close to you to try to make amends. Scott is going to go full on watch dog 24/7."

Stiles groaned and leaned his head more deeply into the pillow, muttering, "Don't give him _ideas_ , you know he's somewhere where he can hear all of this." He yawned deeply and commented, "Jesus, there is only so much werewolf guilt a guy can take in one day, I'm worn out."

"Yeah, I figured you were tired when you let me get through all of that without interrupting."

"Well, they're _weaning_ me off drugs, my usually sharp comedic reflexes are stunted."

Isaac smiled and stood to let Stiles get some rest. At the door he paused, turning back to say, "By the way, for whatever this may be worth...Erica really didn't know she was hurting you. She's actually really broken up about it. I'm not saying you should forgive her, but...just know that no one was trying to hurt you on purpose, okay?" Isaac scratched the back of his head and added, "She wanted to come and apologize herself, but I told her that was a terrible idea."

Stiles snorted. Very terrible, especially given that Scott might rip her throat out before she got within 5 miles of the hospital.

"Well, and Derek told her to stay away. He's royally pissed off. I think he's worried Scott's going to try to implicate Erica."

"Derek's concern is, as always, very touching. And don't worry about Scott, he's pissed - like somehow more pissed than I am - but he won't report her. Tell Erica I'm going to be fine. And that I will accept tribute in the form of baked goods and sexual favors."

Isaac's smug smirk made a reappearance as he said, "Noted."

With that, Isaac was gone.

And Stiles was asleep in minutes, too tired to even hear his late-night visitor enter through the window.

 **I'm very interested in the relationship between Isaac and Stiles because to me they have the polar opposite father/son relationships, so I wanted to explore that a bit. I tried to work in some Stiles sass and snark but it felt a little out of place with the serious things Isaac was talking about. Fear not, I'm going to try to get Stiles back to his witty self in chapter 4.**

 **Originally I was going to try to get into the Derek reaction that I wanted, but I decided to save it so I can really get into that and focus on it. Probably only one or two chapters left!**


	4. Chapter 4

**The long awaited Derek reaction as promised in my story description! This chapter is a little bit shorter than the last one, but it's all Derek and Stiles, so hopefully that makes up for it. It turned out a little different than I expected, but hopefully everyone will like it!**

 **I still own nothing.**

When Stiles next came out of his hazy fog - decidedly less hazy than it had been, which was probably a good sign - he blinked blearily at the clock on the wall which read 3:47.

Preparing to settle back into a peaceful slumber, Stiles tilted his head to the side. He caught a glimpse of a giant hand on his injured shoulder.

He let out a sigh and allowed his eyes to slip closed.

Wait.

His eyes shot open and he sucked in a terrified breath to let out a scream.

Another monster-sized hand clapped down on his mouth, reducing his scream to a frightened squeak. Stiles continued to shout into the palm covering the bottom half of his face, doing his best to break free of the hold without tangling himself in the tubes and wires attached to his body.

Suddenly, Derek's face floated into his line of vision, hissing, " _Calm down_ , Stiles. _Jesus_ , be quiet, do you want me to get arrested _again?_ "

Stiles eyes narrowed, and Derek was fairly certain that the muffled "Mmmph" that came from below his hand was Stiles' way of giving an affirmative to that sentiment. Derek kept his hand where it was until Stiles' breathing began to settle, but recoiled quickly when he felt something wet slide across his palm.

"Ugh, _gross_ , did you just lick me?!"

Stiles wiped his mouth with his good hand before sputtering out, "Uh, I think it was a little worse for me, Derek. I don't even want to _think_ about where your filthy paws have been. And unfortunately, I mean that in the very literal sense."

Derek growled in his throat, but Stiles cut him off quickly, unable to stop an adrenaline fueled rant.

"No, no, no, _Sourwolf_. You don't get to play that game today. It's 4 in the morning and you're lurking over my _hospital bed_. Because I'm in the _hospital_. Because _your beta_ broke my arm. And dislocated my shoulder. What the _hell_ are you doing here?!"

Derek remained silent, mouth pressed in a thin line of...annoyance? Anger? Stiles could only guess, as Derek (being Derek) remained impenetrable. He stood over Stiles, hand twisted into the shoulder of Stiles' hospital gown frowning until Stiles thought he might snap.

"Jesus _Christ_ , would you at least back off a little if you aren't going to say anything? Get _off_ of me!" Stiles shouted before twisting his shoulder out of Derek's grip- and promptly letting out a pained (and totally humiliating) whimper as his shoulder reminded him _why_ he was in the hospital.

God, it had felt fine seconds ago when...oh.

 _Oh_.

"Have you...were you...were you werewolf mojo-ing me?" Stiles whispered, eyes flitting up to Derek's face.

Derek's face flushed, and he struggled to grit out, "You...you were moaning in your sleep, your heartbeat was acting up...I could sense your distress," He added before quickly looking away.

Stiles felt touched for a moment. But that quickly morphed into confusion. With a furrowed brow, he said, "Wait, _wait_...were you... _watching me sleep_?!" Stiles jerked back at the sudden realization, and looked at Derek with a strange mixture of bewilderment, horror, and also affection.

A most endearing expression.

"What the _hell_ , Derek? Even for you, this is like...this is a whole new level of creepy, I mean-"

"Stiles, _shut up._ " Derek grumbled, gripping his forehead in one hand in an effort to hide his embarrassment at being caught.

"-not that I'm not grateful, that pain drain stuff-"

"Stiles-"

"-it really does the trick, I don't know what I'd have done without Scott-"

" _Stiles!_ "

Stiles snapped his jaw shut and made eye contact with the Alpha.

After a long moment of silence, Stiles murmured, "Sorry, they're lowering the dosages of the good stuff so I have more energy now...and I'm not sure when I last had my normal meds." Derek frowned and Stiles couldn't help but flinch back at his expression. "I mean I guess they could've given them to me and I didn't know, I'm just not sure..."

"I didn't mean it like that, Stiles. It's fine," Derek said with an expression that Stiles couldn't quite understand. "I just came by to...uh...check out the damage...Erica..."

Stiles felt bitterness pool in his stomach as Derek trailed off. What, was he here to make sure Stiles was going to keep his mouth shut? _Screw that_.

"And you had to come by at 4 am to 'check out the damage'? What, making sure she didn't let me off easy? Screw you, Derek, I-"

Derek turned to glare at him sharply, before interrupting, "She didn't mean to hurt you."

"What a great excuse, that always works in court 'I didn't mean to almost _tear his arm off'_." Derek took a step forward and Stiles couldn't help feeling threatened, his heartbeat picking up a few paces. He held out his good arm defensively (not a great defense against werewolves, as his other arm could attest), "I didn't...I didn't mean it like that, okay? Jesus, I'm not actually going to rat her out."

Derek's face seemed to soften - as much as was possible for him - and he took a step back with his arms up in a non-threatening position. "That's not what I'm trying to do here, Stiles- _Christ_ , this shouldn't be so hard. Look, no one wanted you hurt...she...she didn't know what she was doing, Stiles. She doesn't know her own strength."

Stiles' anger resurfaced as he bit out, "And whose fault is that?!"

Derek's eyes, flashing red, shot to Stiles' face as he snapped, " _Mine_!"

A moment of resounding silence followed as Derek tried calm himself and Stiles tried to process the very strange course of events taking place this early morning.

Suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Wait, wait, _wait_ ," Stiles began, looking at Derek as if he had sprouted a second head (which, in Stiles' defense, he had seen things equally strange happen in Beacon Hills), "is this...I mean...is this you attempting to _apologize_?"

Derek's face flushed once again.

Suddenly, Stiles couldn't help himself.

He burst into laughter.

His laughter grew so intense that he started to cry, and then his shaking began to pull on his injured limb and he had to force himself to calm down as the tears were becoming tears of pain.

"Oh my god, _Derek_. You are so _bad_ at apologizing. I thought you were going to _kill_ _me_ for a second," Stiles managed to choke out between breaths as he started to settle down.

Derek, looked thoroughly irritated and possibly hadn't ruled out the option of killing Stiles. But to his credit, he hadn't stormed off which is what Stiles would have expected.

Derek finally grumbled, " _Look_ , I don't have a lot of experience with this, okay? I...it's been awhile, I've been on my own for years."

Stiles forced himself to calm down at the somber reminder of Derek's lonely existence. He really _wasn't_ used to doing this.

All the bitterness Stiles had been feeling evaporated in an instant, as it occurred to him that Derek was forcing himself to endure something he found so wholly unpleasant for Stiles' benefit.

"I'm sorry," Stiles mumbled, although he couldn't keep the small smirk from returning, "I shouldn't have laughed. You aren't used to this...you have the floor," he added with an expectant smile. Sure, he felt a little bad, but that didn't make him want to milk this moment any less.

Derek, now thoroughly less terrifying considering his angry expression was focused on himself and not directed at Stiles, let out a deep sigh, before mumbling, "I'm...I'm _sorry._ I...didn't mean for you to get hurt. I...I've been a werewolf my whole life. I've grown up just...I grew up being taught how to control my strength, to avoid injuring anyone."

Stiles remained remarkably quiet as Derek struggled to find the right words in what was quite possibly his first apology in several years.

"I was taught early on to be aware of how to interact with humans. But I...I was so focused on getting my pack in top fighting shape...I just didn't foresee this being a problem."

Stiles couldn't help but groan. Sure, Derek was displaying it in a different way than Scott and Isaac (who nearly puppy-eyed him to death), but this was guilt.

Sure, it manifested itself into sort of terrifying anger from the Alpha.

But once again, Stiles was being subjected to overwhelming werewolf guilt.

"Derek - and for the record, I can't believe I have to do this _again_ \- but, Derek, _j_ _esus_...it's not your fault. Seriously. And anyways, I'm going to be fine. I'll be good as new in no time...well not _no time_ , but only some time I think."

Derek had lost his anger and was slipping dangerously close to dejected puppy territory.

"Besides, if me nearly losing an arm is what it takes to get you to display _real human emotions_ , I am happy to make the sacrifice."

There was that familiar Sourwolf scowl Stiles had grown so fond of.

They were silent for a moment before Derek said gently (well...Derek style gently), "Really, Stiles. I'm...sorry you got caught in the middle of this. I never wanted you to get hurt."

Stiles felt himself becoming dangerously emotional at that sentiment. It was nice having a Sourwolf in your corner.

Before Derek could read his mind (a skill Stiles was certain the Alpha possessed), Stiles forced himself to joke, "My god, this must be what it was like when the Grinch's heart grew three sizes."

Derek felt an unusual tug at the corner of his lips and realized Stiles might not have been that far off with that joke. He settled himself into a hospital chair and gently returned his hand to Stiles' shoulder.

"Go to sleep, Stiles."

Without the pain in his shoulder or tension in his stomach, nothing remained to tether Stiles to consciousness. He slipped off to sleep with a whispered, "G'night, Sourwolf."

 **Hopefully those of you following along enjoyed! Thank you again to all of the people who have been keeping up with the story! If you have a moment to jot down your thoughts in review form, I would love to hear them!**


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